


Love's Labours Forgotten

by fem_castielnovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Hell, Descriptions of Hell, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Purgatory, Pining!Cas, Post-Season/Series 08, Raised You From Perdition, Requited Love, Self-Worth Issues, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 11:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3648822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/fem_castielnovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas reminisces about his feelings for Dean and Dean's feelings for him and tries to assure himself that there's still a chance Dean could love him ... maybe. Which is when Dean interrupts his brooding.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's Labours Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Attention: Non-graphic (super cool) descriptions of Hell, souls, angelic special abilities, and most importantly, resolved romantic/sexual tension.
> 
> Oh look, you can see my thirsty-ass Purgatory feels from here

Cas had always known love.

It was the first thing he had ever known, in fact. His first moments in existence had been encompassed in waves of love directed at him and then it was whispered, “ _Castiel_.” And from there, his mind was in constant awareness of the love his brothers and sisters held for him. A unifying love experienced by all angels, no matter their differences.

But he was given a mission, and if his world was a static ocean of love then this mission would be the droplet that rippled the surface and brought on a tidal wave.

He was sent for the Righteous Man.

It took ten years in Hell-time to reach him and Castiel was not prepared for the sight that met him. Amidst the filth and the chaos was the most beautiful beacon of warmth and purity that the angel had ever beheld. The purity was untouched by hell’s blackness and it repelled the evil that attempted to pervade it. No, more than repelled, it was attacking it. But not in order to purify it Castiel realized, it was a malicious and selfish battle that the soul was waging, and one that hell’s demons would use to ruin the purity. Castiel would not give them that chance. His wings flared and he dove into the melee, smiting the grotesque souls as he cleared a path to grasp at the warmth of the Righteous Man’s soul. At the first touch, Castiel screamed louder than anyone had in the past millennium, “DEAN WINCHESTER HAS BEEN SAVED!”

He scooped up the panicking mass of purity which flailed in terror before it clung desperately to him. For some reason, he was shocked when Righteousness actually rolled across him, flowing in waves from the bundle in his arms. “Mine!” He boomed at the darkness that clawed at the soul. “Mine!” He proclaimed as he broke away from the talons tearing at his wings. The escape from hell took less than an earth day - the holy combination of the Righteous Man’s soul and the angel’s grace terrified all of Hell’s inhabitants that might stand in their way. Hell itself was just as eager to expel the angel as it had been to prevent him from entering.

 

The angel made his way to the shoddy grave, not noticing as he decimated the surrounding forest. He began to repair the soul’s vessel.

“I have you,” he crooned in Enochian to the trembling soul in his arms.

 

And this is love.

 

He shields the love he holds, concealing it with a cold, angelic exterior. It’s second nature - easy enough considering that angels are less inclined to express emotions that humans.

 

Yet it bleeds through.

 

In the way he resents the angels objectifying the brothers as he comes to know them. The way he resents the angels’ disgruntled attitude towards humans. How he allows himself to doubt. How he chooses to liken himself to humans – to the humans in his charge. The way he can’t stop watching humanity after seeing what it’s like up close.  
The way he can’t stop watching _Dean_. The way he wants to observe the hunter. And then the way he wants to be around Dean, interacting with him all the time. The amount of time he begins spending with the brothers to be with Dean and bask in the love the older man shares with his brother. That love is admirable and it gives Cas joy to be privy to it. It means that the brothers put trust in him and he loves them for it. Loves that Dean feels he can take down some of his barriers in front of him.

Castiel realizes that he is not supposed to single out any of his Father’s creations over another but he will not deny the love he bears for Dean Winchester. That is, after he comes to terms with it. It takes him so long.

But what takes him even longer is realizing that Dean loves him back.

 

Cas first senses little flares that go up in Dean’s soul. They happen whenever the angel enters the same room as the hunter. Then Cas notices them when Dean thinks about him, _longs_ for him. It takes the rest of the day for these flares to melt and for Dean’s soul to stop reaching out to – no – reaching out _for_ Castiel’s grace.

Cas reprimands himself for many months about this: _he doesn’t know what he’s doing_ , _his actions don’t indicate love for me_ , _he can’t really love_ **me** ,   _it’s probably just residual grace mingled in from when I reunited his body and soul after hell_. _Yes, it’s my grace stuck in his soul trying to reconnect to me._ And that last one is what he clings to, but as the years pass and Cas becomes more able to rein in his own grace from reaching out - _Practice makes perfect_ \- the argument becomes less believable. And the flares grow brighter and stronger. _Maybe I’m increasing the power of the residual grace every time I heal him._ This satisfies him, and he can admit that the flares indicate the human’s love without scaring himself.

But then the flares move to Dean’s mind. They sing and they scream but Dean never acts on them, doesn’t change what he’s doing, and they are quickly shushed by other parts of the mind. Bodily reactions accompany the thoughts and Cas’s arguments fall to pieces. Physical, intimate reactions with very specific connotations that can no longer be mistaken for anything else by the hundredth time they occur.

 

With whatever reasoning for it that Cas chooses to believe aside, he knows with certainty now:

 

_Dean loves him._

_Dean loves him and is attracted to him._

_Dean is showing attraction towards his male vessel._

_Dean would not mind making love to the body which once belonged to Jimmy Novak, but has been for years in reality and Dean’s mind, only associated with the angel Castiel._

 

Cas is ruined.

 

Cas doesn’t act on this new evidence of Dean’s love. _That isn’t playing by the rules_. He doesn’t wave the proof in anyone’s face. _It isn’t fair that I read his mind and feelings, and he will only deign to act on them when he’s ready_. The thoughts warm him but he rarely allows himself those moments because they often reminded him that Dean might never be ready. This saddens Cas until he returns to Dean and is greeted with the flares of soul and mind alike. He begins to treasure the glances Dean tosses in his direction, and the “staring contests”, and eating out with the brothers, and rides in the impala.

Cas leaves it at that.

 

And now he is human. So insecurities gnaw away at his heart. He can no longer see the flares of mind or soul. His beliefs in Dean’s love now lack the foundation that had been there for so long. _Dean’s behavior towards him hasn’t changed_ , hopeful thoughts whisper. And Cas even notices that perhaps Dean is more affectionate towards him in his newfound human state. But without the reassurances he had put so much stock in, it grows harder and harder to believe.

What was it like to know with absolute certainty that the hunter loved him? What color was Dean’s soul the last time he saw it with clarity? What was the look in Dean’s eyes when his soul flared? It the light still there when he glances at Cas over breakfast?

 

He fears he is beginning to forget ...

 

Dean finds Cas in the library, knees drawn up to his chest, huddled in a chair, looking like his world’s fallen apart for the thousandth time but that the ever-sacrificial angel doesn’t think that it’s worth telling anyone else about. Cas has been here all afternoon, thinking. This morning he woke up realizing, once more, how terribly he wants to be with Dean and the multitude of ways in which he means that. So he had breakfast, catalogued some Men of Letters’ archives, and resigned himself to the main library and thoughts of Purgatory. Of the tight and hopeful hug which Dean had given him. Of the forceful and yearning way Dean’s soul had clawed to reach out to Cas’s grace at that hug. Of the strength, and energy, with which Dean had clung to his hand at the escape portal.

 

But Dean is kneeling in front of the chair; hand over the back of Cas’s own. “Cas! You okay, buddy?” He’s called the angel’s - well, fallen angel’s - name at least ten times.

“I-” Cas stops himself. Dean gives a pause before gently squeezing the angel’s - Dean won’t ever stop thinking of him as that - hand, “Hey, talk to me.”

“Do you ever doubt certainties?”

“…Certainties like ‘the earth is round’ or certainties like ‘Sammy’s my brother and we care about each other.’”

“The latter.”

Dean sighs a sad chuckle, “All the time … w-what makes you-?”

“Why do you doubt?”

“Cas-”

“Your codependency is blatantly obvious. You have survived so much together. You always come back to each other.” He strings the facts together to test what Dean means by doubt.

He sighs, “I know that … that I love him and we go through so much shit for each other, …” Dean seems to muster his strength, able to tell that this is important to Cas (and it isn’t the first time he’s found the angel in this scenario – he’s now concerned that this is what Cas thinks about every time Dean’s found him like this), “but I don’t see how he can love me. I mean I’m the one who puts him through the shit half the time. Hell, I’m not worth his love,” he mutters, “not anyone’s really, and -”

“Why would you think that?” Dean gives him a confused look and Cas pauses but continues, “You give so much of yourself to your brother, to the world … What makes you think that you don’t deserve at least a little love in return?”

Dean sighs and shakes his head, “Forty years of another lifetime.” Cas drew a small but sharp breath and glued his eyes to Dean. The hunter was picking at the hem of his jeans.

“Dean-”

“No, no, Cas. You asked and you and Sam keep telling me and keep asking me about it and how I  deserve things but thirty years spent with Hell’s best torturer telling me otherwise and then ten more where _I_ was the one doing that and worse … It makes a pretty strong case against you.”

“Dean Winchester you _are_ worthy. And to say otherwise is a degradation and rejection of the love bestowed upon you. Love that is freely given.” Dean sits watching him so Cas continues, “You give your own love so carefully, and these people love you back, and you give yourself to them but will not let them reciprocate.” Cas leans forward with furrowed brows, more frustrated than ever when Dean shows no outward sign of comprehension. “And even now, you remain unconvinced. Or at least that’s what I presume since I no longer have the power to support my conjecture by looking at your soul or mind, but it’s what you have a bad habit of doing,” he said bitterly as he looked away from the man in front of him. Dean looks offended, “My what?” Before he can get angry Cas jumps in, attempting a factual air but merely sounding tired, “Your soul and mind. I couldn’t block out my full perception of them but I could prevent myself from hearing individual thoughts and anything but the strongest emotions. And now I am here having to explain this to you instead of being able to see if your mind has registered that you are deserving of both your brother’s love and the love of a once-angel.”

“The strongest emotions? Like, like-”

“Like love, and like-”

“You could tell who I loved?”

Cas sighs at the ceiling, again Dean is missing the point. “Yes, I could tell the general direction of the emotion. And based on body language, circumstances, other cues, it wasn’t hard to …” Cas drifts off and pauses.  
The concern in Dean’s voice, the nervousness of the question …

 _Dean_ knows that he loves Cas.

It wasn’t just that Dean’s soul longed for the familiarity of Cas’s grace. It wasn’t only his brain registering physical attraction and leaving it at that. Dean was consciously aware of his feelings for Castiel – _all_ of them.

The angel turns to Dean, trying not to give away his revelation about the other man, “And besides that, you were always so careful with your love. You rarely gave it but when you did, I was never able to ignore it because it was so vehement. And it was always with people who returned the sentiment fully, though rarely with as much passion.  
“Bobby loved you and Sam both as his sons and I know that both of you see him as a father. Jo Harvelle did for a time entertain romantic feelings for you but ultimately she loved you as a brother. Her mother loved you as a son and Jody Mills loves you as a mother might but also as a friend. Ash held familial love for you, and Garth cares similarly. As I’ve stated and as you know, Sam and I both love you.  
“The fact of the matter is, you have never loved a person who didn’t love you in the _exact_ same way,”

Dean looked to the hem of his pants for a moment then back up, “Never?” he gave a slightly bitter laugh, “ ‘cause I’d be willing to bet that there’s at least **one** exception.” Dean draws his hand towards his lap, finally pulling it off of where it had lingered covering Cas’s. Cas leans forward, catching the hand mid-air and Dean looks up to meet blue eyes, inches from his own.

“Then you would _lose_ that bet.” Cas tries to pour meaning and certainty into every word. Dean tilts his chin up, never losing Cas’s gaze as the space between them is minimized by the action. Cas watches the confusion and hope in Dean’s eyes for a moment and then the angel closes the distance between their lips. Their breaths are bated but Cas feels as if he’s sucked in his first lungful of air. Dean reaches up with his free hand to hold the angel’s face close to his own. Cas drives the kiss deeper when Dean willingly parts his lips. The angle was awkward for a moment before Cas grasps both sides of Dean’s face and falls smoothly into his waiting lap. Dean moves his arms to wrap tightly around Cas’s lower back and pull the angel flush against him. They part only to gasp dizzily for air, and even then Cas just moves, panting, to kiss at Dean’s throat.

“Oh-Cas!” Dean moans, eyes closed and brow furrowed. Cas is afraid that he’d heard concern and uncertainty lacing the pleasure.

“Dean-” he kisses the bolt of his jaw, “Winchester -” he kisses his cheek. He maintains eye contact with the other man as he continues, punctuating each word with a kiss to swollen lips, “You. Are. Loved.” His stormy expression melts at this as Cas gives him another deep kiss and rakes his hands through Dean’s short hair.

“How can you still doubt this? If anyone should have doubts, it should be me.”

“But, my thoughts-“ Dean gasps as Cas continues to pepper his face and neck with kisses.

“Are memories. I can’t read them or feel them pushing at me to notice them. Can’t see the flare your soul offers when I come into the room and you’re waiting for me. Can’t feel it reaching for my grace whenever we’re near. Can’t sense your _arousal_ ,” Cas growls out the word and grinds down into Dean’s lap, “at inane things I do.” He pauses to give Dean a long, deep kiss, “I’m no good at being human,” he whispers, “I can’t see the human things you do that mean you love me. Didn’t know human ways to show you I loved you.”

“How-” kiss, “how long?”

“How long have I known? A long time,” he gives a small laugh, “How long have I loved you?” Dean nuzzles against Cas’s neck and runs his hands up his spine.

“Since I first saw your soul in hell.”

Dean looks up at that, his worried eyes meet Cas’s adoring gaze, “You’ve loved me longer than I-? And you didn’t say-?”

“It was because I loved you,” he says with a sad smile, cupping the other man’s face. “You were only going to act when you were ready and I was afraid I would scare you …”

Dean closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Cas’s, and pauses. He draws back and with the eyes of a scared child replies, “But you knew! And I didn’t! I had hoped … I wanted … but I never once thought you could actually love me back. You were an angel for God’s sake. And I was … I am-”

“You are my everything." Cas insists. "Have you forgotten? I have died to protect you and what you care for. After I healed Sam from the effects of the pit and lost my senses, I _only_ fought to protect you. I abandoned heaven - left my family and home - repeatedly for you. How could you not think I loved you in some capacity? If anything, I should be the one worried that my love wasn’t reciprocated. All I’ve had to go on to know you loved me was the way your soul reacted to me and that ability was removed with my grace.”

Dean buries his face in the crook of Cas’s neck and shoulder, “It’s - it’s hard for me, but _you_. You shouldn’t need to see soul sparks or whatever to know that I-I still love you.  Have I changed at all since you lost your mojo?” Cas shakes his head and leans into Dean’s short hair.

“If anything,” he places a kiss at his temple, “your attentions have increased,” Dean hums when Cas plants a kiss at his jaw.

“However, I feared that you were merely taking pity on me,” he kisses the corner of  Dean’s mouth.

“If you’re still worried about that, then you should know” Dean leans in to whisper directly in Cas’s ear, “that I don’t do pity fucks.”

Cas leans back, eyes wide-blown in lust, to get a good view of the hunter and gauge how serious he is. Dean grins and jerks his head in the direction of the dorms. Cas nods vigorously and they scramble to their feet, unable to keep their hands off of each other as they fumble into Dean’s room.

 

The memory foam would remember Cas.

Just the way Cas would always remember that Dean’s soul varied along the same spectrum as the hunter’s eyes. The eyes that sparkled a bit as they shared the same mug of coffee at Breakfast because Cas was too tired and lazy to get his own.

Because not seeing Dean’s soul didn’t mean he couldn’t see the love that the hunter held for him. If anything, Cas thought, it was rather that no longer seeing the soul allowed him to see the hunter for the first time in the way that the hunter saw him. And through this newfound connection in their complex and profound bond, he knew that Dean was able to see the love which Castiel held for him. _That_ – knowing Dean was aware of, could feel his love – was more than enough to replace any absence he had once felt at the loss of the sight of Dean’s soul. Because more than anything, his hunter deserved to be loved.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Exits are to your left, your right, and your rear, restrooms are to the front, Kudos and comments are found below, and as always very appreciated. Thank you for flying Air fem-castielnovak.


End file.
